The Crossings of the Poros
by NoldorinLord
Summary: The Haradrim, coaxed by the agents of Sauron, are ravaging South Ithilien. Will Gondor achieve victory? And if so, who will come to aid Gondor?
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters listed, nor do I own the plot. All that cedit must go to the great Prof. Tolkien.

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Prologue-The Year 2885 of the Third Age

Far had Gondor fallen from the majesty of Numenor of old. The Men of Gondor were the descendants of the Kings of Men, and the greatest race of Men upon Middle-earth, but the blood of Numenor was all but spent, and mixed with that of lesser men.

Even the Royal Line was broken, and now there was no King of Gondor, instead a Steward of the Realm who 'Ruled until the King should return'. But still, even in the days of its waning, there are men in Gondor in whom the blood of Numenor flows true. One such man was the then Steward, Turin II, son of Thorondir.

He ruled a realm that had shrunk considerably from the one Isildur of old had reigned over. The height of Gondor's power had come a thousand and nine hundred years before, in the reign of the King Hyarmendacil, which meant 'South-Slayer'.

He had conquered the land of Umbar, the havens of the Corsairs, and the Haradrim and Easterlings acknowledged his sway. It was said in that time that 'precious stones were pebbles in Gondor for children to play with'.

But the seeds of decay had been sown. Hyarmendacil's successors lived lives of luxury and did not adopt his policy of expansion. Slowly, they lost many places like Umbar and all lands west of the Anduin, save Ithilien.

After the Kings failed, the Northmen came to dwell in Rohan and became allies of Gondor after aiding them in battle against Easterlings. Their lord, Eorl, swore an oath of allegiance to Gondor, and said all those who followed in his bloodline should abide by it.

Now the time had come. The oldest and greatest enemy of the Numenoreans, Sauron the Deceiver, had awakened again and reoccupied the Land of Mordor, while the Men of Gondor slept. While he was building up his strength, he sent emmissaries to the Evil and wild Men, who hated Gondor and all the heirs of Elendil.

The hearts of the Haradrim are easily corrupted by Sauron, the base master of treachery.

Their chieftains gathered together and mustered and army. The southern most way to enter Gondor was to cross the dangerous fords of the River Poros. It was this way that the Haradrim purposed to enter Gondor.

After that, they would have to cross Ithilien and be harassed by the Rangers of Gondor, then pass the defenses of Osgiliath, and finally lay siege to that vast and great fortress, Minas Tirith.

Though the spies of Gondor informed the Lords of these tidings, little could Gondor do but gather an army as large as it could afford in its days of waning. The reach of the Kings of Men had lessened, and all they could do was defend against the onslaught.

Turin II turned to his only hope and ally, the King of the Mark, or Rohan, and requested that they remember their oaths and send aid to Gondor in its hour of need. Besides, the soldiers of Gondor wore very heavy armor, and fought on foot for the most part. Even their nobles fought on foot with an elite guard.

Therefore, the mounted knights of the Rohirrim would be a valuable addition to the army of Gondor, and would add mobility to their force. At this time, the King of Rohan was Folcwine. He was an honorable man who fulfilled the Oath of Eorl.

He sent his two older sons, Folcred and Fastred with an army of mounted Rohirrim to Minas Tirith, where they joined the Marshalling of the Army of the Lords of Gondor, under command of Turin II son of Thorondir, the Steward of Gondor.

When the army was assembled, they set forth towards Ithilien, passing Osgiliath, and then turned South at the Cross-Roads towards the River Poros.

The army included ten thousands of men-at-arms, armed with the spear and the sword, and clad in heavy mail with surcoats of black bearing the token of the White Tree of the Court of the Fountain. They wore helms on which were crafted the gull wings of Numenorean heraldry.

There were also one thousand archers, the finest that Gondor could boast of. Though they were in no way comparable to the Numenorean archers of old, they were the best in Middle-earth, save perhaps the elves.

The cavalry was made up of five hundred knights of Gondor, from the princedom of Dol Amroth, which was a fief of Gondor in Belfalas, along the sea. The main cavalry consisted of the Rohirrim, with six thousands of their knights, the finest cavalry in Middle-earth. It is said that the Rohirrim are born upon their saddles. The Royal foot guards of Turin numbered five hundred, and were the best infantry in Middle-earth.

All told some eighteen thousands in all. 'Twas but a rough echo of the glory and majesty of the armies of the Lords of Numenor, but still an impressive sight upon Middle-earth. It was the most that Gondor could spare without leaving its homelands defenseless. The Rohirrim marched under their banners of green, which depicted a white horse running free upon a grassy field.

The Knights of Dol Amroth marched under their banner of a swan-ship upon a background of blue. Their leader was Andrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth. The blood of Numenor flowed true in these men and they bore themselves like Lords.

Last but the proudest marched the men who bore the black banner of Gondor upon their shields and banners. Upon it was an image of the White Tree of Gondor, with seven stars and a crown set atop the tree. It was the device of Elendil the Faithful.

The fate of Gondor lay upon the upcoming battle.

_"Et Earello Endorenna utulien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!" _

_The words of Elendil the faithful as he landed upon Middle-earth- _

_'Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.' _

_--------------------------------_

The sky was overcast, and Amon Amarth, or Mount Doom in the common tongue, was spewing fire. 'Twas not always so, reflected Turin sadly. Ever since the Lord of the Black Land had come back to his ancient dwelling, the mountain of fire had rekindled.

Ithilien, called the garden of Gondor, had been emptied of its dwellers, as the orcs of Mordor frequently raided it, as it was the part of Gondor nigh' Mordor. The only Men left were a company of Gondor, called the Rangers of Ithilien, who were chosen from former dwellers and were armed with the longbow, sword and the broad-bladed spear.

Turin was a war-wise man. He knew that the Nameless One was merely biding his time, preparing his strength for the inevitable assault on the last realm of the Dunedain, the Men of the West. His war upon Gondor would come swiftly.

'Twas Turin who founded the refuge of Henneth Annun, in Ithilien for the Rangers. He knew the time had come nigh' when the Dark Lord's assault on the Dunedain would come. As Lord of Minas Tirith and Steward of Gondor, he was charged with the defense of the Realm. He therefore strengthened and made anew many fortifications of Gondor.

The Rangers of Ithilien knew all the lands in the area unto the Fords of Poros. They were sent to scout out the Haradrim force and report its strength, purpose and heading. They established that the force was a few days heading from the Fords and they were currently in the now-desert land of South-Gondor, which was no longer counted as part of the realm.

The strength of the Southrons were said to be at forty thousands, which meant that they twice outnumbered the Lords of Gondor and Rohan. These tidings were disheartening to the Men of the West.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – The Plan of Battle

Night had come over the glades of Southern Ithilien. Ithil smiled upon the camp of the Men of Gondor and Rohan, as they set up their tents. Thither had the entire host come, eighteen thousands in all. The last breath of glory of the dying Kingdom of the Kings of Men.

"Elbereth," sighed Aglahad, Prince of Dol Amroth, as he looked up towards the stars of Varda. He walked among the tents of his knights, making sure they were comfortable, for the next few days would indeed be trying for the Dunedain. They were taking on a host of Haradrim twice the size of their own host. Aglahad stepped out of the encampment for a while, after he had checked on all of his men. He wanted a breath of fresh air, as well as admire the stars of the Queen of Heaven.

He strode out and wandered over to a tall elm near the Gondorian encampment. He was brooding on the upcoming battle, thinking of different outcomes. A great responsibility lay on the Prince of Dol Amroth. If indeed the Steward of Gondor fell in battle, the burden of command over the army would fall upon him. It was upon him that those young soldiers would look, their pleading eyes begging him to bring them home. And if he did not, then many good men would make that final journey to the void…..

He was forced out of his musings by a soft noise nigh to him. Instinctively, he spun around and drew the dagger on his belt, and looked for the source from whence the noise had come. Then he recognized a golden haired tall figure, and his death like grip upon the dagger hilt relaxed and he sheathed his weapon. The golden haired man laughed softly and spoke to Aglahad.

"Lord Aglahad," he said respectfully, "I come to you with the bidding of Lord Turin, who asks that you would come to council, so that we may contrive our forces to offer our battle to the Southrons."

"I will come, Prince Folcred," he graciously replied, and followed the young Horse Lord to the tent of Turin son of Thorondir. They passed the tents of Gondorian men-at-arms on the way, all of whom hailed Aglahad and Folcred. From thence they came upon the lodgings of the Rohirrim, and a comfortable smell of horses reached Aglahad's nostrils. The Knights of the Riddermark hailed their Prince, as both Folcred and his brother Fastred were well-loved by the Men of Rohan. They hailed Aglahad as well, for 'twas obvious that he was a man of high nobility and held himself like one of high lineage. Tall, stern of glance, dark haired, pale skinned and proud, he looked a typical Gondorian. An elf would have discerned from a league away that this was a man of high Numenorean descent. Also that he had a measure of Elven blood in his veins. Indeed, the high men of Dol Amroth were descended from Imrazor the Numenorean, and his wife the lady Mithrellas of the Silvan Folk.

They reached the tent of the Steward. It was guarded by a company of the Guards of the Citadel before the Court of the Fountain, the guard unit for the Tower of Ecthelion, who could not leave the citadel of Minas Anor without leave of their Lord, the Steward. More properly the High King, if indeed the King of the Numenoreans could return out of the shadows of the past.

They entered the tent. Thither were present many lords among the Rohirrim and the Dunedain. There was Lord Egalmoth, Lord of the Keys, who was of a family in which the blood of Numenor flowed true, Lord Turin II of the House of Hurin, Steward of Gondor, Lord Belegorn, of a Numenorean family whose fiefdom included Anorien. The only lord from South Gondor was Prince Aglahad, as most of Gondor's army had remained behind to protect the homeland, in case the army of Turin was defeated. There were a few captains as well.

From Rohan were Prince Folcred and Prince Fastred, Lord Brego, Third Marshall of the Riddermark, and their captains. In a corner stood three men. They were clad in green and brown of various hues, their hoods covered their faces, they wore surcoats with the toke of the white tree. They were armed with the sword, bow and spear. They looked strange, yet 'twas plain that these men were Dunedain, for they were tall, and their keen grey eyes shone from beneath their hoods.

Once the party was settled, the Steward began to speak.

"Lo! Lords of Gondor and Rohan, the time may indeed be drawing nigh when the destruction of the West hastens to fulfillment. For even as we speak, a great host of the Haradrim, twice the size of our own, approaches the hither bank of the Poros. It would be best for us to stop them upon the crossing itself, as we could create blockade which would choke their line of battle, and confer their advantage in numbers to naught. As such, I am loath to retreat now."

Murmurs of approval rang throughout the tent. Then Turin raised his hand for silence, and beckoned to one of the three green clad men, the tallest. He strode forward and lowered his hood. The Rohirrim noted that it was a typical Gondorian, grey eyed and proud. He spoke in a clear voice.

"My lords, I am Duilin, captain of Gondor. Ithilien is my charge, and this battle will be fought on grounds that my company knows every inch of. We are rangers, lightly armored and clad. Many a time do the cursed Haradrim fall to our darts for defiling the lands of Elendil, and we are proud of this. For days we have observed the movement of the Southron host, and Lord Turin hath asked us to give you report on all you may encounter."

"These Southrons have a scout party of two thousands detached from their main host, to scout ahead and report on Gondor's soldiers. Till now, we have not given them a chance. But it seems that the scout party has crossed the Poros ahead of the main host, and is already camped on the hither side of the Poros. By your leave, Lord Turin, we have not assailed them, for you had forbidden us to reveal ourselves."

Turin nodded appreciatively. Then Prince Aglahad spoke.

"Captain Duilin, what is the strength of your company?"

"Six hundred, my Lord."

"Then we should wait for the scout party to wander further into Ithilien to ambush them, should we not?"

"Aye lord, which is what we plan. We are sure that they will not wait for the main host. These Southrons are a savage people; they care only for loot and plunder. They esteem too lightly the valor of Gondor; but we come to teach them a lesson in warfare."

The assembled group nodded their agreement. Then Turin, seeing that everyone was in agreement, concluded.

"Then, my friends, take some rest, for the coming days will have stern need for your endurance. The plans for the main battle will be discussed later; for now, let us concentrate on ambushing the scout party."

The group began to disperse noisily, when the ranger commander, Captain Duilin, stood up and addressed Turin.

"By your leave, lord, I still have some tidings, merry and grave."

The group stopped in their tracks, to listen. Turin beckoned that Duilin should continue.

"The news that should make us rejoice is thus: No mumakil have been observed among the Haradrim host."

Men exchanged relieved looks; the mumakil of Harad was indeed a feared beast in the West. But Duilin continued:

"We have also received ill tidings. We have learnt that the Haradrim main host is led by a……"

He stopped dead, as if his blood had frozen. Every eye in the council was fixed upon him. He struggled with himself, then with a deep breath he continued.

"A Nazgul."


End file.
